SEVEN BULLETS WERE STILL LODGED INSIDE MY BODY WHEN NEW YORK’S MOST FEARED CRIME BOSS SLIPPED A GOLD RING ONTO MY SWOLLEN FINGER WHILE I LAY UNCONSCIOUS IN SURGERY—BUT WHY HAD DOMINIC ROSSI DECIDED TO MARRY A WAITRESS HE BARELY KNEW?

When I finally clawed my way back through the heavy fog of anesthesia, the first thing I felt was not pain—though my entire upper body felt as though it had been run over by a freight train—but an overwhelming, suffocating warmth.

My eyes fluttered open. The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room were dimmed. The steady, rhythmic beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor echoed softly in the quiet room.

I tried to turn my head, but a sharp spike of agony shot through my right shoulder, forcing a ragged gasp from my throat.

“Don't move.”

The voice was low, smooth, and laced with absolute authority.

I blinked sluggishly, focusing my vision toward the corner of the room. Sitting in a high-backed leather armchair was the man from the gala. Dominic Rossi. He was still wearing the dark tailored shirt from the night before, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a glass of amber whiskey resting on the table beside him.

“You’re awake,” he stated, standing up and walking slowly toward the bed.

I swallowed, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “Water...”

Dominic immediately poured a paper cup from the bedside pitcher, sliding a bendable straw between my lips. The cool liquid felt like heaven against my parched tongue.

“Where...” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Where is my mother? Did... did I lose my job?”

Dominic’s expression didn't change, but a strange, unreadable shadow passed across his slate-gray eyes. He reached out, pulling the crisp white hospital blanket slightly higher over my chest.

As my hand shifted against the mattress, something heavy and cold caught my attention.

I looked down at my left hand.

Resting squarely on my ring finger was a thick, unadorned band of solid yellow gold, gleaming under the dim light of the bedside lamp. It didn't belong to me. I had never seen it in my life.

My heart hammered against my ribs, setting the monitor beeping at a faster tempo. I stared up at Dominic, my chest tightening with sudden panic.

“What... what is this?” I breathed, holding up my hand weakly. “Why am I wearing a ring?”

Dominic didn't flinch. He looked down at my hand, then back into my eyes with terrifying calmness.

“Because you are my wife,” he said simply.

The silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the hum of the air vents. I stared at him, wondering if the heavy painkillers were causing vivid, grotesque hallucinations.

“Your... your wife?” I choked out, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat before turning into a cough. “Are you out of your mind? I’m a waitress! I met you three hours before I got shot! I don't even know your last name!”

“Dominic Rossi,” he supplied smoothly, pulling a chair closer to the bed and sitting down. “And you are Elena Rossi. We were married by Father Thomas in this very room while you were in surgery twelve hours ago.”

My entire body went cold. The pain in my shoulder vanished beneath a sudden wave of sheer, unadulterated shock.

“You... you married me? Without asking me? Without me even being conscious?!” I struggled to sit up, but the agonizing pull of my stitches forced me back against the pillows with a whimper. “Are you insane?! That’s—that’s illegal! That’s kidnapping! That’s—that’s psychotic!”

“It is survival,” Dominic corrected, his voice dropping into a register so chillingly cold that it instantly cut through my panic. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, pinning me in place with his intense, unblinking gaze.

“Listen to me very carefully, Elena,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “The man who shot at my mother was sent by Victor Costa. The moment Costa found out you survived and ruined his hit, he put a bounty on your head. If you walk out of this hospital as a civilian, you won't survive forty-eight hours on the streets.”

I shook my head frantically, tears of frustration spilling over my lashes. “Then put me in witness protection! Call the police!”

A dark, humorless smile touched the corners of Dominic’s mouth. “The police in this city answer to the highest bidder, Elena. Witness protection is a sieve. But my name? My ring?” He reached out, gently wrapping his warm fingers around my trembling hand, pressing my gold-banded finger against his palm. “Nobody in the underworld dares touch a Rossi. By marrying you, I gave you my shield. You are untouchable now.”

“I don't want your shield!” I cried, pulling my hand away with a surge of adrenaline. “I want my life back! I want my mother! If she finds out I’m mixed up with some lunatic mob boss, it will kill her!”

At the mention of my mother, Dominic’s expression shifted. The cold, impenetrable armor flickered, revealing something calculating underneath.

“Your mother, Ellen Scott, is currently resting comfortably in a private cardiac suite at Cleveland Memorial,” Dominic said smoothly. “All of her medical debts have been paid in full. Her experimental valve replacement surgery is scheduled for Tuesday morning with the finest cardiovascular surgeon in the country.”

I stopped breathing. My eyes widened in horror and disbelief. “You... you did what?”

“I took care of her,” Dominic said as if discussing the weather. “Because she is now my mother-in-law. And my family is always provided for.”

I stared at the man sitting beside my hospital bed—a man who had just hijacked my life, legally trapped me in a mafia marriage, and bought my mother’s life like a commodity at a grocery store.

I wasn't saved.